


Unseemly

by Laylah



Category: Valkyrie Profile: Silmeria
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 15:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is unseemly for a god to be so enamored of a mortal. To feel such fascination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unseemly

He is the finest warrior she has seen in a long age, his shoulders broad and his stance wide, his swordsmanship uncompromising. Silmeria watches him fight and wishes, selfishly, for him to fall. Now, when she is here. When she haunts this battlefield. Let him be hers. Let him wield that great blade at her side. He is worthy.

She does not rejoice when the heavy fall of a Crell blade strikes him unguarded, cleaves down through steel and flesh and bone; it is unseemly for a valkyrie to show such blatant favoritism. But she spares no time, does not risk that his soul will be called away.

"Brahms," Silmeria says. His death has taught her his name; the Choosers have dominion over the slain.

"Battle maiden," Brahms replies. His voice rumbles, low as the distant thunder from the forest to the south.

"The gods judge you worthy," Silmeria says. The strength of his soul shines, without the prison of his flesh to dampen it. "Will you fight?"

He bows, but not so quickly that it hides his smile. "I am honored," he says.

*

They travel together, as she seeks others worthy to fight alongside the gods. She summons her einherjar to fight with her as they cross Midgard; all were brave warriors in life, but their souls must yet be honed that they might truly reach their potential.

Brahms she summons even at other times, when no enemy threatens. She seeks to draw him out in conversation, to learn of his people, of his culture. To admire the strong line of his jaw and the fire in his eyes.

It is unseemly for a god to be so enamored of a mortal. To feel such fascination. Silmeria keeps him close by her side anyway.

*

His breath is hot against her ear, his shoulders so broad her hands scarcely meet across his back. She can scarce move, pinned beneath him, but she arches up as best she can, and her limbs sing like bowstrings. He is changing her, and she wants him to.

*

A valkyrie fights alone. Even with her einherjar surrounding her, she is alone on a battlefield. It is not so now. Silmeria can feel Brahms's presence at her back, the rush of air when he swings his sword, and she moves to counterpoint him. Their attacks balance each other, his breath timed to the loosing of her arrows. They do not do this as valkyrie and einherjar.

They fight as comrades.

*

"Why?" Brahms demands. The village they survey no longer has a name: its houses are ash, its fields salt. "Why would Odin allow this? Why would he _cause_ this, when these people served him faithfully?"

"You question the will of the gods?" Silmeria asks. The question should be outraged, affronted, and instead her voice shakes. Confusion roils in her belly, chilling as battle-sickness has never been.

"I do," Brahms says. He turns away from her. "There is no honor in this."

Silmeria opens her mouth to argue, to demand that he return, and the words are ice in her throat.

*

"The will of the gods grants you this life," she says, when his anger has grown, not abated, with the passing days. "You cannot betray them and still keep this form intact." Them, she has said. Not us. She cannot unsay the word.

"There are ways," Brahms says. "The gods are not the only ones to grant continuance of life."

Silmeria's hands clench at her sides. "What you speak of is not _life_," she says.

Brahms smiles, but there is no humor in it. "It is not death," he answers.

*

He has cast aside his sword, with the change. He is no longer her einherjar, no longer a mortal soul. The red light of death shines in his eyes, and curls tame around his hands. Yet there is recognition in his eyes, honorable enough to stay Silmeria's hand as she reaches for her bow.

"Brahms," she says. Her voice is as cowardly as her arm, trembling shamefully.

"His rule is tyranny," Brahms says, and save for the wildness he still sounds himself. "Will you oppose it along with me?"

Silmeria looks down. She does not trust her voice, whatever answer it would make.


End file.
